Page 2 of It All Began at Dixieland

“MOM! I’m not talking to you about my sex-life.”

“Because you don’t have one to speak of?”

“The point of this trip is to promote myself as a romance author and interact with my readers. I’m not trying to pick anyone up or have a romp between the sheets. I’m selling books and an escape from reality.”

“I’d think getting some would be an escape from reality for you.”

“Why does dad put up with you?”

“Because he loves me unconditionally.” I stare at her for a moment unimpressed. “He loves my enchiladas. And how I roll my r’s when I’m rolling his—”

“MOM!” Maria Martinez Blevins cackles in the passenger seat of my SUV. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait her out. Eventually, and almost a song and a half later, she sobers enough to speak again.

“I’m nervous.”

I glance at her quickly and then back to the road. My mom is not one to show her vulnerability. “About what? The trip? The hotel? My IBS in stressful situations? Your health? My driving? Come on woman, give me something.”

“If you’d stop guessing for ten seconds…” with a shake of her head, she continues, “I’m not sure, really. Just nervous. It is a long trip, and I don’t know what to expect at the hotel, so I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to sleep, but that’s not it. Nervous for you, maybe? This is what, your 7th, 8thsigning?”

“Uh…” I think back over the last couple of years that I’ve been attending book signings, “7th.” I reach over and pat her leg. “I’ve got this, mom, no need to worry on my behalf. It ain’t my first explicit penis-filled rodeo.”

“Title of your sex tape.” She murmurs and my heart leaps for joy. I bark a laugh and grin obnoxiously at her as her face flames.

“I’m so proud of you, mom!”

She shrugs casually, face still tomato red, “Just trying to fit in this weekend.”

“I’m not worried about the signing, mom. I had presales, so I’ve paid for my table at the show. Anything on top of that is just a bonus.”

“I know. Your business is doing well. Not sure what it is.” She presses her hand to her stomach, looking out the window.

Cruising along the highway in the middle of nowhere Illinois, not quite halfway through our trip, I let the custom playlist play in the background while I contemplate her concern.

“Is it like when you had that dream when you were a kid about your friend, and it turned out that she had been in a car accident?”

“I think it is.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe another car accident.” She’s not psychic, or a seer, or anything mystical and does not require evaluations and jackets that bind your arms. She’s just a firm believer in intuition and I can’t fault her since she’s usually on to something. “Or maybe, I’ll accidentally crash vagina first into an available penis?”

“One can only hope.”

About an hour later, I’m gaining on an old camper being pulled by a pickup truck that’s moseying along in the right-hand lane. Something juts out from the side of the camper and before I can blink, a panel of the siding rips off and flies right at the windshield of my SUV, straight at my mom. We both gasp and garble inarticulate noises of shock and fear. The rogue panel catches the wind current between the two vehicles and flips at the last second, moving between the camper and us, successfully avoiding impaling my mother.

“HOLY SHIT! FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK!” I yell, my chest thundering and my arms and legs tingly with adrenaline. I pull up next to the pickup truck and roll down my mom’s window, both of us flailing our arms at the driver. The elderly gentleman flips us the bird and focuses back on the road.

“That was some crazyFinal Destinationshit right there!” Mom’s hand is over her heart. “Pull over, Efa, I need a minute.”

I cut across the right lane and slow down once I’m on the shoulder, the familiar rumble of the strip beneath the tires soothing for once. We aren’t dead. My mom has not been decapitated by Jesus’ family camper. I don’t have to tell dad that mom was nervous about her own death!

We both get out of the vehicle once I’m in the park and meet in the front. We hug and cry and then let each other go and dance around like lunatics shaking our arms and legs to get rid of the excess adrenaline.

I register the sound of a door shutting and look up mid-shake to see a tall man walking toward us with a frown.

“Excuse me.” He drawls, a slight twang to his deep voice. “Are you two alright? I watched the whole thing and”, he shakes his head, removes his ball cap, and slaps it against his thigh, revealing light brown hair with natural blond highlights, before slamming it on his head again, “hot damn, that was a bit of luck back there. I called the state troopers and reported his license plate. Don’t want any more of that paneling coming off.”

“Thank you.” I breathe out, dropping my hands to my knees and bending slightly at the waist to catch my breath. “I appreciate that. We’re ok. I think. Shaken and stirred for sure.”

---